


Killian Jones - Whumptober 2017

by unholy_this



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: (Very) Minor Character Death, Bondage, Broken Bones, Choking, Handcuffs, Hanging, Kidnapping, Rape, Swearing, broken ribs, gagged, tags will be updated as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unholy_this/pseuds/unholy_this
Summary: I can't draw, so instead of doing sketches I'm writing whumpy prompts for Inktober! Ratings and themes will vary, check the chapters' titles.Some chapters will contain graphic depictions of nonconsensual sexual activity. Those will have a "NSFW" added in the title.





	1. On Their Knees

**Author's Note:**

> See the full list of prompts [HERE](https://whumpreads.tumblr.com/post/165891571330/i-dont-draw-but-ive-been-thinking-of-doing-some).
> 
> Edit on 08/11/2017: Some chapters will contain graphic depictions of rape. The rating just went up and a warning was put on the whole fic, but there will also be "safe" chapters for all whumpers to read. ALL "unsafe" chapters will have a "NSFW" added in their titles and a warning will precede the story, so you'll know which ones to avoid.

Experience had taught Killian Jones about how useless it was to fight against handcuffs, especially well made ones, unless one wanted to make their wrists bleed.

But as usual for him, he ignored all experience and kept tugging at the handcuff that kept his one hand chained to the ground, forcing him to kneel like a bloody slave all over again. They’d taken his hook from the very start, his one but great hope of escaping this predicament.

He kept shouting in anger and clanging the handcuff on the metal ring on the ground in an effort to be heard by someone, anyone. The room was just a little small, big enough for him to stand and walk around, if only he was bloody given the chance for it!

Suddenly the door opened, heavy light entering the barely lit room for a few seconds before someone entered and closed the door behind him. Killian’s eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dim light again, and then he saw a big man standing above him and smiling cruelly.

“What do you want?”

“Something very simple, really,” the man said and threw a wooden hand brush in front of Killian’s knees. Killian shivered when he saw that they had attached his hook to the handle, probably with a way too strong glue for him to rip the two apart. “I want you to rub the floor clean. When I’m satisfied I may bring you food and water. Simple enough?”

Killian looked up at him, masking his confusion and fear with anger. “Who are you? Why do you-”

Before he could manage to finish, the man had opened the door and exited without a second word.

“Wait!” Killian said, partly angry, partly desperate, still trying to stand up in vain. Did they really expect for him to just... scrub the floor? What for?

He looked at the brush. He could attach the hook to his brace and try to rip the brush away, then work on the handcuffs but something told him it wasn’t going to be as simple as that.

He couldn’t... not again. Could whoever that was that took him know about his past? Impossible...

Memories assaulted him then. Too many times of sweeping the floor as a kid, a teenager, even in that book’s warped reality and all so that he’d take mere scraps in return... Callouses growing on his knees and his back hurting from the constant hunching...

He shook his head. It was nothing like that. That man was just toying with him for no good reason. But then again, Killian had met enough people, enough _villains_ in his life to doubt that man was serious about bringing him food and water.

Well then, he guessed, sitting back on his heels, he’d just have to starve and wait and see.


	2. Bag Over Head

Killian squirmed around to no avail. The ropes had masterfully gone around his wrist, the straps of his brace _and_ his torso, giving him no freedom of movement at all. His ankles and knees were in no better shape, tied together as well.

And worst of all was the dirty old bag that was put over his head. It stunk of mould and rotten food, the rope holding it fixed around his neck was uncomfortably tight and the hard material was making his whole head itch. He couldn’t even move his arms enough to scratch at the undoubtedly already reddened parts. The only small relief he could find was by scratching the back of his head on the side of the vehicle they’d thrown him in.

After a few long minutes of the vehicle running and turning and turning to the point where Killian was completely disoriented, he realized he was having trouble breathing. He’d sneezed a few times, which probably meant that dust or something else equally disgusting was entering his nose, but the bag was thick by itself so it was no surprise his breath was getting heavier. He couldn’t even see a thing through the bag.

He tried to calm down. He stopped moving and squirming and he rested back on the side of the vehicle, waiting for his captors to make their move and give him a chance to escape. He concentrated on his breathing, trying to slow it down along with his racing heart.

Suddenly, the vehicle stopped. He heard the back door opening and he looked toward it, even though he knew it was in vain. He barely saw some light entering through the seams before two strong sets of hands grabbed him and picked him up. He felt the air grow lighter when they took him out in the cold, practically dragging him since he couldn’t walk with his ankles tied together.

Killian squirmed around, trying to escape, but then the ones holding him pushed him forward. He lost what little balance he had and fell down, landing from chest up on a puddle of what he hoped was just rain water. It didn’t smell any worse than the mould in the bag, that was for sure, but still the bag and his clothes got drenched almost immediately, causing him to shiver from the cold.

He heard laughs from behind him, cruel sadistic sounds coming from someone who probably was as much of a bully as he had been once. Still he felt his blood boil with anger, added by the fact that they kicked him a few times for good measure before picking him up again and dragging his knees and feet too through the puddle and then against the ground.

He found himself breathing heavily again, until they unceremoniously dropped him on the hard floor. He heard them walk away before they closed a door. He guessed he was alone, so he let a low, dragged and frustrated grunt. He squirmed around on the floor, trying to remove the bag. What purpose did it have now? Why didn’t they take it off?

Realizing his fight was only making his breathing more labored without any effect, he relaxed on the floor. It was still very uncomfortable, even more by the bag now dripping of cold water, but he could wait until they came and took this infernal thing off. He’d been through worse.


	3. Jail Cell + Noose

Killian startled awake, immediately feeling the kink in his neck from having slept upright. He groaned and leaned forward a little, twisting his sore shoulders and looking around the other cells. What few men were left of his crew were still sleeping, apparently as uneasily as he.

He looked at the empty cells and sighed. A small part of his crew had stayed behind, a smaller part had died in the invasion, and half of what was left had accepted the offered pardon, to live as poor farmers and work for the new crown instead of facing the gallows. The rest of them - a handful only, really - had stayed out of respect of their former Captain.

Killian couldn’t blame any of them. The ones who had accepted the pardon had families, children to help raise. He knew all too well how much it would mean for those children to keep their fathers, even if they were piss poor. But he had worked as a slave for too long in his own life and had hated the crown too much to accept their insulting offer.

The King had used them as expendable pawns and his machinations had led to Liam’s death. A quick slice of his throat was the least he deserved.

Killian leaned back to the wall of his cell, waiting, too upset to fall asleep again. He could barely see the dawn break through the tiny window, he knew that his time would come soon. No reason to walk towards the gallows and face the crowd with sleepy eyes. He wondered how the crowd would react. Naive as he had been before, he’d admired the former King, so he doubted the simple folk would know any better than he did. How would they react upon seeing his murderer walk the steps to his death?

He pondered wildly until three more guards entered the dungeons and walked towards a cell. They banged on the metal bars with their longswords, startling poor Ames awake. The young lad shivered slightly as the men walked in his cell and picked him up.

It was time. Killian swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched the guards strap the heavy handcuffs on Ames’ wrists. One by one, they had everyone tied behind the other until they went for Killian.

“Captain goes last,” a guard said with a smile. Killian spat at his feet, which prompted the guard to kick him right in the face. He groaned, falling to his side and protested wildly as all three guards dragged him to the last of the row - Farrell - and secured his wrists with the same kind of heavy handcuffs. Given time, Killian could perhaps break out of them, but as the guard in front pushed Ames forward two guards stayed close to Killian, watching his every move.

_Bloody hell. This couldn’t be it…_

Some of his men started shivering as they walked out in the open. Whether it was from the sudden cold or from the fear, Killian couldn’t tell. He would never know.

Instead he focused on the angry shouts from afar. He couldn’t distinguish any words. With a horrified shiver, he realized that the shouts were directed at _them._

He then heard the men in front gasp in shock. The sun was now hitting him directly in the face, so he had to squint and move a little around to see what had shocked them. A similar gasp escaped him when he saw what they’d seen.

His men. The ones who were supposed to have been given pardons.

Three of them were hanging lifelessly as mud and stones were thrown at them, the rest of them had been dropped unceremoniously in a pile of bodies nearby.

“No…” he muttered. No! They were supposed to… “They were to be pardoned!” He turned towards the guards, anger flaring up in him. “They accepted your terms!”

Fake ignorance was what he was met with. The guards simply shrugged with a small smile.

It was then that something in him exploded. He tugged boldly at the handcuffs, half-dragging Farrell with him as he went for one of the guards. Before he could reach at him, he felt a sharp, extreme pain between his legs. He grunted softly and fell to his knees. The pain sustained, so bad that it took him a few seconds to realize he had just been kicked in the groin. Tears fell from his eyes, but he kept looking at the still smiling guard in front of him as Farrell picked him up.

“Come on, Captain,” he said bravely, even though his face was betraying his terror and despair.

Killian limped awkwardly as the men in front of him started walking up the stairs. There were three nooses, which meant that Killian would die last, alone.

Traitorous shivers started running down his spine. The bodies of the last three men were taken and thrown away like lifeless sacks before the first three men of the row were lead to the nooses.

Killian gasped when he saw the executioner put the ropes around the trembling necks of his men. The knot was put at the base of their necks - they would be strangled to death. He turned to look at the bodies of the rest of the men - could he really distinguish whether they had died of asphyxiation or from a broken neck at this point?

More furious voices were heard. Killian looked back at his doomed crew as the crowd angrily threw again mud and stones - even rotten lettuce - to them.

Too upset to listen to the Commander listing their crimes, Killian only stared in shock as the men were kicked forward. Tears ran down his face again as they struggled and choked and writhed. The crowd kept shouting at them. Before Killian knew, the guards were going for the next and last three of his men. Farrell looked back at him, breathing heavily. He managed to swallow hard and nod at his Captain before he turned to face his death.

Killian stared. The executioner put the ropes around their necks. The guards pushed them all at the same time. They struggled, they choked, they writhed.

And then it was his time. By now he had managed to ignore the agony in his groin. He looked at the crowd, not flinching away from the trash thrown at him. Whatever fear he had felt by that moment was replaced by searing fury. Clueless crowd, supporting a King who would gladly sent all of them to their deaths and commit genocide only to keep his riches.

Once again he ignored the Commander’s speech, but turned to him when he heard “Any last words?” He looked into his eyes. Cold, focused, determined.

Killian spat at his expensive boots, no doubt made by a poor worker who would never receive a fair payment.

Time mattered not right then. Killian looked forward and grunted only slightly when the executioner put the heavy, itchy rope over his head and tightened it more than necessary. He heard the man’s low snicker as he moved away.

Closing his eyes for only a moment, he opened them and looked one last time at the ocean in front of him, then at the still furious crowd. There must have been something in his eyes, for everywhere he looked almost everyone went quieter, an inkling of fear on their faces.

And then he heard the guard walk behind him.

“Fuck the King,” Killian said out loud.

He expected to hear wood and rope creaking, crowd cheering cruelly, men laughing, his own breath being stolen from him.

He certainly didn’t expect to hear loud bangs come from the harbor and behind him. A moment later the building in front of him crashed into pieces. He only got a moment to see more cannonballs hit the buildings around him and the crowd to scream in horror before someone pushed him forward.

He fell. The rope tugged at his neck, his breath caught, his feet hung aimlessly, trying to find a footing. His hands reached up to loosen the knot to no avail. He was slowly losing consciousness. He heard more screams, more bangs, more crushing sounds.

Then something wrapped tight around his legs. And lifted.

Killian gasped. He pulled slightly at the rope, this time managing to pull it away a little. He could breathe! He choked and coughed, but the spots around his eyes started going away. Weary as ever, he dropped his gaze a little. There was Starkey, hoisting him up with only one arm as he shot at the guards with his free hand.

Killian turned his head, trying to reach the knot at the base of his neck and loosen it. Weak and breathless as he was, he failed but kept trying, until he suddenly fell forward to the ground.

“Captain!”

“Is he breathing?”

“We have no time! Just pick him up and go!”

Rough but still somehow gentle hands picked him up. His arms were thrown around two sets of shoulders and then he was being taken away.

“The men…” he rasped weakly. “We need to bury them…” They deserved a proper sailor’s burial, given to the sea as their former Captain was, not to be left at those bastards’ mercy…

“I’m sorry, Captain. We can’t risk going back now. They’d understand.”

Killian tried to fight, to go back and at least _do something_ , but the pain of all the abuse his body had suffered in the last few minutes caught up with him and he sagged on his men’s shoulders.

The half-cut rope was still around his neck when they reached the Jolly Roger. By that time he had come to. He walked to the starboard facing the town. The men snapped open the handcuffs for him and he swiftly took the rope off his neck.

“What shall we do, Captain?”

“The fort?”

“The sun’s just behind us, and we can run fast.”

“Good. Open fire to the city.”

He ignored the horror on the crew’s faces and instead focused on the few buildings they had managed to turn into ruins by then.

“Captain… are you _sure_?”

Was he? Was he willing to kill mercilessly and lay waste to a whole city, even if seemingly all of its inhabitants seemed pleased to see him and his whole crew - even the regretful ones - die a horrible death before them?

“The harbor. The rich houses, and what we can reach of the castle. Open fire. Leave nothing behind.”


	4. Explosion

_Just a little more_ , Killian thought as he ran, trying to motivate his lungs to not give out now. He only needed run a little more before he could reach the exit, but he had no idea if time was on his side.

At least everyone else was safe. Henry and Swan had left… or had they? Were they coming back? Had the Evil Queen run to them to gloat about trapping him in a huge, inescapable hole in the ground?

No, no… there was only a little left…

He first felt the explosion. The ground beneath him - and around him - as well as the lamps hanging from the walls shook slightly and a sudden gust blew at the back of his neck.

Like a small earthquake that notified him for the greater aftershock.

Only this time he had only a couple of seconds to prepare. The ground shook violently then, causing him to lose his balance and all the lightbulbs to break. Surrounded in darkness, he counted one second as small rocks fell on him before the deafening boom was heard, rattling the smaller pebbles on the mine floor.

The ground kept shaking for a little longer and he felt the dust and smaller rocks falling around him, but no second explosion was heard. And then it was over.

He breathed hard. He _was_ still breathing. He wasn’t hurt, aside from a slight annoyance on his arm and knees from how he’d fallen and on his back from the fallen rocks. He coughed when some dust entered his mouth and reached for the flashlight on his belt.

Bloody hell. The tunnel was unrecognizable now. The train rails were distorted and broken, some of the supportive columns had turned into pieces, and there were fallen rocks everywhere. He turned the flashlight around, but every bit of the place had now changed. He was bloody lucky none of the bigger rocks had fallen on him. Securing the flashlight between his arm and side, he sat up and took his phone out of his pocket. ‘No Service’, it said.

Killian scoffed. He didn’t expect anything less. Who knew how deep inside the earth he was. Whatever exit there was was now probably destroyed as well. He looked up. His only hope was for someone to use a locator potion for him and then start digging. He doubted he could reach the other tunnels, like the one leading to the library, if he judged by the force of the explosion.

He thought with a heavy heart that it could be best if he stayed where he was. If the others did use a locator potion, he could at least help them by not making them run around for him.

He sighed and leaned back on a big rock, wincing when he felt a sharp pain on his back. He touched the aching spot with his fingers and breathed in relief when he didn’t see any blood on them. He looked up as he leaned back again, this time more carefully. A simple bruise was nothing compared to what could happen to him if they didn’t find him soon. He might have survived the explosion, but there was always the chance of the mine collapsing in on itself after the last resilient column fell.

Fighting away his shiver, he looked at the rock behind him. It looked hard and sturdy enough to support a significant amount of weight. Killian sighed softly, trying to not use up too much oxygen, and lay on his side. He assumed a fetal position facing the rock and covered his head with his arm.

Then the ground shook just a little and his flashlight gave out. Under different circumstances he would have chastised himself, but that time he couldn’t stop the small sob from escaping his lips. He was all alone in a dark place that was very probable to collapse around him.

He curled in further on himself and he knew that wasn’t because of survival instinct. Not the obvious one, at least. He closed his eyes and thought of Emma, as if the power of his mind was enough to let her know where he’d ended up in.


	5. Gagged (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** This chapter contains graphic depictions of rape.

The first thing he felt was that his arms were hurting. They were caught in an uncomfortable position he couldn’t take them out of, and there was something strange in his mouth. His eyelids still felt too heavy for him to open them, so he concentrated on getting grip on what had happened. He realized his arms were somehow tied with his ankles, so every time he tugged at them his feet raised a little from the ground.

The ground… he was on his knees.

And there was nothing between his skin and the cold floor.

Breathing hard through the round thing in his mouth, he tried to feel around for clothes. A soft gasp escaped him when he realized there was nothing covering him save for the leather restraints around both his arms that bound them behind his back and the blindfold that covered his eyes.

He was drooling now. He struggled to open his eyes, only to be met with darkness.

His breathing and heartbeat went faster out of his control. What was happening? He couldn’t remember a thing since starting to feel a little dizzy while in Granny’s... Someone had probably drugged him. But why?

He struggled to stay silent as he tried to remove his left arm out of the binder, to no avail. It was a little cold, considering that he was completely naked, but that didn’t stop his skin from starting to sweat.

_Focus. Breathe. Get out of there._

He didn’t stop struggling, even as his chest was starting to hurt from his laboured breathing and his skin was crawling with all his sweating.

Suddenly, he heard latches moving and he froze. He hung his head while a door opened and did his best to look like he was sleeping as he heard soft footsteps coming towards him.

He closed his eyes under his blindfold so that he could focus on his breathing, stop it from going too fast from his panic.

The footsteps stopped when he guessed the figure was mere inches away from him.

“No need to pretend, pirate,” a female voice he couldn’t recognize said. “I’ve got cameras all over the room, I saw you struggling with the binder.” He could hear a smile in her voice.

At that, his breathing went hard again, more spit falling out of his mouth. He raised his head to the direction of the voice and tried to shout.

“Hmm? What was that? I think there’s… there’s something in your mouth…” the woman said, then burst out into a laughter that made Killian’s skin crawl.

He heard leather clothing creak, and then someone was breathing on his face. He could swear he could feel the woman’s icy and merciless stare sending daggers at him.

“You’re going to be so much fun,” the woman said softly.

He then felt a hand wrap around his length and he immediately gasped, trying to back away.

The woman laughed again. “Nope, not this time.” She tightened her grip on him.

Killian moaned, struggling to move away but her grip was strong and at every movement of his it pulled painfully.

“Relax. You can enjoy it, if you choose to.”

He shouted. He tried to make it sound like a ‘No’ but the gag in his mouth only allowed him unintelligible sounds. He thrashed around, trying to move and shake any part of his that he could but the woman’s grip didn’t give away, and he nearly screamed when he felt her lips wrap around his cock.

He shook his head violently in his effort to make her stop. It wasn’t... it didn’t feel good at all. He just wanted to run, to get out of there.

He shouted. The woman went on to suck him and lick around his length, and he could only feel like his head was going to explode. He started to whimper and he felt tears escape his eyes, wetting the blindfold.

“Mm,” the woman said before she took him out of her mouth. “Don’t cry, sweetie. I’m doing this for your fun too,” she said, but her evil laugh afterwards betrayed her intentions.

She took him back in her mouth and he cried.


	6. Broken Bones

Having had a not particularly untainted life - especially during his beginnings - waking up in pain was something Killian Jones was used to. Just a blink or two, when his eyelids weren’t too heavy for him to lift, then a quick evaluation of his injuries, then moving on.

This time the evaluation took a little longer. His ribs throbbed painfully, every forced breath sending knives down his sides. There was more blood now - or was it mud? He was lying in something wet, and it had started raining…

Slowly, his lesser injuries started signaling their presence. Right ankle, bridge of his nose, ear, eyebrow - no, that was from earlier - even his hip, slightly. None of them compared to his ribs, of course, he could ignore any of them for as long as he needed to.

Loud, piercing sound was heard from behind him. Red and blue lights… he knew this world had some peculiar inventions, but what was the point of deafening and blinding people?

“What are you?!” he heard someone scream.

Belle.

Ah, right. A smile crept up his lips despite his ribs’ resistance to him wanting to laugh. Her memory was gone. The Dark One was all alone again...

“She crossed over the line, she doesn’t remember,” the bastard said.

This time he couldn’t help laughing, not regretting the jab of pain on his sides.

He then opened his eyes as he felt a presence above him.

Swan. All in her blonde-haired, ready-for-a-fight glory… before he could realize what he was doing, his treacherous hand was reaching out to her.

“Hey beautiful,” he managed before he groaned. Good. Playful, elusive. Keep it up. “Here, I didn’t think you noticed- Ah!” His sentence was cut off by a yell as Emma stuck her hand at his aching ribs. Blasted woman. Making him cry in pain and he still couldn’t blame her.

“Your ribs are broken,” she said matter-of-factly.

“That must be why it hurts when I laugh,” he replied with a grunt. “Did you see his face? His one true love, gone in an instant!”

There. The Dark One was looking at him, finally. The other man could barely contain the anger in his face. It built up as he walked towards him.

“Just like Milah, Crocodile! When you took her from me,” Hook said as he tried to stand up. His ribs protested wildly for him to stop moving, but he didn’t care - not for the first time. He swallowed the pained cry that wanted to tear out of his throat and supported himself on his knee.

“But you took her first,” Rumplestiltskin said. Hook had barely time to feel the anger flare up at the words he hated so much before the man’s boot connected with his chin. Hook yelled weakly as he fell on his back. For a second after his back collided with the hard ground, he couldn’t breathe. That second seemed to last forever as stars exploded in his vision. He didn’t know what was happening, only that he was in pain, his heart breaking once again and competing with his ribs over the pain.

“Gold, are you insane?!”

“Yes, I am!”

Hook felt something heavy land on him and something hard press down on his throat; now he really couldn’t breathe. His hand and hook went instinctively up, to try to stop the Dark One from choking him with his bloody cane. To bloody push him off of him.

“You don’t want her to see that.”

“I’m a stranger to her!”

“Murder is a bad first impression.”

Murder.

That’s all it was, wasn’t it? Only hours ago, Belle had begged that monster to not kill him, and now there they were...

His lungs started to ache for air while his throat was almost being crushed. He couldn’t make any sound, not only because of the choking, but because his lungs - his whole body - felt so weak from the pain...

And suddenly, the weight was gone. In his blurry vision, he saw someone pull the Dark One off of his battered body while he felt his throat open again, and he took one small, pathetic and harsh breath. His chest hurt, his throat hurt, but everything was starting to black out, and he couldn’t make any sound.

And Emma...

She was leaving. Everyone was walking away.

It couldn’t be just that, could it? He had only broken some ribs. He would survive it.

It was over... and the Dark One had lost.

He allowed himself one last smile before his world went dark.


End file.
